


Interim

by MichellesPenScratchz



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Booty Calls, Car Sex, Casual Sex, Clint Barton Feels, Other, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Pre-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Reader is gender neutral, Sex in a Car, Smut, You're Having A Fling With Punisher Hawkeye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25409107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichellesPenScratchz/pseuds/MichellesPenScratchz
Summary: You’ve taken a fast liking to this mysterious, haunted man known as “Barton,” and while you question if he truly *likes* anyone, you feel as though he could have feelings in his own way about you. Though he vanishes for days or weeks with no explanation, you’re always ready for him—in many ways—when he returns. Through it all, he never talks about the life he had before he met you. While he won’t say it, you’re certain he once loved another. But at the moment, it’s you he wants. Maybe not for long, but for now. And you realize you don’t mind that so much.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Reader
Kudos: 15





	Interim

**Author's Note:**

> I've never done a Canon Character x Reader fic before. Have fun!

_“At the station,”_ is all the text message says.

 _“On my way,”_ you type in reply, and get in your car. Maybe a younger version of yourself would have responded with a more expedient “omw!” But like all of the roughly 3.5 billion people left on Earth, you find you’re no longer in too much of a hurry through life to press a few extra keys on the phone. Just one of the many ways the world has changed forever after The Snap.

 _“Can’t wait,”_ you add at a stoplight, nonetheless.

It’s raining heavily as you eventually brake your car in front of the train station to pick up _another_ change The Snap brought to you. You don’t know why he’s standing out on the curb in the downpour to wait for you, when he could have just as easily waited inside the station. But from his demeanor as he climbs into your passenger seat, you get the impression a little rainwater is the least of the worries on his mind.

As long as you’ve known him, he’s only called himself “Barton.” You’ve only given him your first name. Between the two, you figure it evened out to enough of an introduction for your purposes. He’s soaking wet as he regards you. “Hey,” he says simply. “Been awhile.”

You shrug, and shift into Drive. “Who’s counting the time anymore?”

He gazes out the passenger window. “Nobody _I_ know.” The train station shrinks into the rear window, and your car makes its way into the city. You hate to admit it, but you don’t miss the traffic of the old days…even if every other abandoned building in the business district stands as a perverse monument to everything humanity lost.

“So what’s new?” Barton asks, dutifully.

You face him and nod towards his exposed arm, blanketed in rain droplets. “ _That’s_ new,” you say, indicating a recent addition to his sleeve tattoo. The ink still looked pretty fresh.

“Gonna ask me what it means?” he inquired, a tinge of weariness in his voice.

You like not knowing what it means just fine. “It looks good.”

“Thanks.”

You drive along in silence, while the radio feebly spurts out some report about several top members of a crime syndicate who were found dead. Butchered, more like. Between the radio static and the sound of rain outside, you hardly pay it any mind. Death and violence have long since lost their sting for you. At least this time it was someone who deserved it.

Barton, however, reaches over to turn off the radio. “I can’t wait to get indoors,” he says simply.

“Me either,” you reply. “It’s supposed to be thunder later.”

“Means the power will probably go out where I’m staying,” he remarks.

“Got some candles at my place,” you offer.

A moment’s silence passes. Barton continues to watch you drive the car.

“I can’t wait until we get indoors,” he repeats, more slowly.

You give him a sideways glance. You sense it in everything about him, just as you always have. His eyes. His short, detached way of speaking. His fists, clenching and unclenching with every stray and poisonous thought to go through his mind. He has lost much—perhaps everything. Whatever cavernous pit The Snap left inside him, you know he’s been determinedly trying to fill it somehow, and yet that pit’s echo remains just as deep as on the day the world was half covered in dust.

“Oh,” you murmur. It dawns on you that you can’t wait until you get indoors, either.

Half a block down the street is a parking lot for a long-since boarded up shopping mall. The parking lot is still half-full of cars, belonging to shoppers who went into the mall to browse and never came out. You find a spot between two of the lonely cars, and shift into Park.

You and Barton delve into each other the instant the engine is silenced. The car’s roof is bombarded by the ongoing patter of raindrops overhead. He grasps urgently at your shirt as your tongues spar, and there are butterflies in your stomach.

You both tumble into the backseat of the your car, only breaking your liplock as long as needed to settle into a somewhat comfortable position. Underneath him, you claw at his rain-soaked top and peel it off with his compliance. He drapes it over the driver’s seat and descends on you once more, fingers rummaging in your hair. While demanding your lips, he reaches down to unzip your raincoat. With the troublesome outerwear unfastened, he works his way under your shirt.

You shiver at first. Even with the fingerless gloves, his hands are cold and damp from the rain outside. But when his fingertips find your chest, it’s as though your very heartbeat infuses warmth into his prying digits. With one hand he ventures lower, leaving a trail of dampness. His thumb traces around your navel, and all the while the kisses are unceasing. Your rapacious appetites make it obvious that this will be done without undressing completely.

You draw delicate lines up and down his shoulder blades with your soft nails, and your knees close in to embrace his waist. Too optimistically, you try to drag his pants down with your thighs, but space constraints in the backseat force you to remove them by hand. Shifting positions, you sit up enough to trace your way down his ribs and sides. You seize the waistline of his pants and doggedly drag them down to his knees.As you shift back to your original positions, you mischievously brush your fingertips along his exposed length. You smile as he gives a hungry, throaty noise. With your legs hugging his waist again, you feel a distinct prodding just below your pelvis.

He relieves your pants of their burden. He knows from past experience how much you love it when he uses his mouth on you, but neither of you is feeling acrobatic enough to try that in this small space. Instead he glides two fingers into your mouth. Your tongue readily supplies them with what they need, and then they withdraw. His hand sinks between your bared inner thighs, and you take in a huge gust of air as you feel your own wetness on his fingers as they press, stroke, and tease your sensitivity. You don’t doubt he’ll go on doing this until you’re ready for him. He ought to know…you’ve been ready since his first touch. You want more than his fingers.

You reach down to glide your fingertips across the top of his busy knuckles. Then you pat the topmost part of your thigh invitingly, giving an urgent nod of permission. “Now!” you plead. “I want—” you pant. “I want you!”

“You don’t have to tell me again.” He leans forward, slowly and cautiously. You feel the initial contact, and then it deepens.

He’s inside you. He’s exactly where he belongs. You whisper his name, look in his rapt eyes, and adjust your hips so he can fill you completely and satiate your pent-up need for this moment.

He pumps steadily at first. “Is this okay?” he grunts between huffs and puffs.

You smile at that question. The tenderness of it catches you off guard. Maybe it was really a revenant of his past self, still unknown to you, asking you that.

“It’s great,” you heave, flexing your fingernails into his shoulders. “You’re always great.”

He begins to rock in and out of you at an accelerated pace, encouraged by your enamored moans. Your parted lips glisten, tempting him into a kiss. As his lips fall on yours, his hands coast up and down your sides, hips and thighs.

The air in the car is quickly becoming humid from the intensity of your lovemaking, coupled with the rain outside. You both draw deeper, more frantic breaths, the windows gradually fogging.

“It’s been awhile,” he gasps.

“Yeah,” you manage. “Same.”

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you squirm pleasantly as he bites the flesh just above your collarbone, through your shirt. A sheer layer of sweat forms at both your hairlines, and rapidly spreads. He dries into you again and again, groaning ecstatically, until you felt a growing tender ache. Your grip tightens on his shoulders to pull his chest in towards you, and you squeezed your legs around his hips with each thrust to entice his climax.

He chokes out your name as he releases all that he had pent up, into you. With a long exhale his body relaxes. You bask in each other’s embrace for a long while.

“…Do you hear any thunder yet?” he asks idly.

You shake your head. “Just the rain.”

No reaction at first. Thinking you’ve finished, you shift to reclaim your pants…but then you halt in a brisk gasp when his hand creeps between your legs again.

You can’t stop your rapid, shallow breaths from escalating as his touch tantalizes you. Your hips rise and fall like the swell of an orchestra he is singlehandedly conducting. Your breaths evolve into broken, passionate cries as he uses his free hand to lift your shirt and flick his warm tongue over your ebbing chest.

Your arms start to flail, searching for something to grab as you stagger towards your brink. His body’s warmth and his forceful, deliberate breaths on your skin heighten your pleasure. At last, you plunge your fingers into the upholstery, tense and scream something resembling his name as he takes you to your peak.

He grins ever so faintly, head rested on your chest while you come back down to Earth. “Almost forgot how much you liked that.”

“Well, I didn’t forget how good you were at it,” you throw back.

After an indefinite time period of bathing in the afterglow, you run your fingers through his hair and then usher him up so you can lift into a sitting position, head on his shoulder. His arm fits around you.

“I know this usually comes first but…your place or mine?” he asks.

“Wherever you want to be,” you say.


End file.
